


Uncommon Scents

by Mice



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair slowly realizes that he's hot for Jim. Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncommon Scents

**Author's Note:**

> co-authored by Lady Jaguar

Blair sat at the kitchen table, organizing more of his books and papers, deciding what to keep, what to sell, what to shred or recycle. In the two weeks since his press conference, he'd had to reevaluate his entire life and work. Everything had shifted.

His life was so different now. No more classes, no more teaching, and for the moment there would be no more academic writing, though he continued working on finishing his diss on the closed society of the Cascade Police Department. No university or professional journal in North America, and probably much of Europe, would touch him until the lawsuit against Sid Graham and Berkshire Publishing had been resolved. After so many years in academia, the lack of work was a shock to his system.

He kept spending a little time each week at the station, though everything there was very awkward. His ride-along was being questioned and reviewed, and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be allowed to accompany Jim, to help him with his work and his senses.

Book by Eli; keep. He stacked it on the floor to his left.

Blair had accepted Simon's offer of a seat at the Academy, though the idea of having to carry a weapon still didn't sit easily with him. His acceptance had, however, kept him at the station with his ride-along under review, rather than it being immediately revoked. He'd be going into the Academy with three years of experience under his belt, and Jim and Simon were spending time finding out how much of the work he could test out of, rather than wasting months "learning" what he already knew. He hoped he could avoid most of it. Different as he was, with the rumors about him and Jim around the station, and being a "known fraud," he wasn't likely to be well received by the other cadets. God only knew if he'd ever be able to testify in court on cases.

Blair knew that despite the problems, he was immensely privileged in his situation, and in all likelihood, he'd be deeply resented. Actually, he expected to be pretty soundly harassed, by cadets and faculty alike.

That, though, was the nature of the beast. Nothing to be done about it but roll with the punches. He'd walk out of the Academy as a detective, as Jim's partner and equal in all ways but seniority, and Simon had been making noise about having him trained as a profiler, as well.

That appealed to him far more than the idea of waving a gun around. He didn't care to remember his ordeal with David Lash, but his skills as an anthropologist minoring in psychology had allowed him to come up with an extremely accurate profile of the man and his reasons for killing. That had been more exciting than even the roller-coaster ride of his subsequent adventures with Jim.

Three used anthro textbooks, utterly standard; sell. He slid them under the table with the others.

When the lawsuit was settled—when he wasn't a fraud anymore—he knew he could do the job, and that he'd gain respect there. It was something that would challenge him, that he could test himself against. It would let him make his mark in the world without exposing his Sentinel.

His best friend.

Jim's behavior toward him since Alex Barnes had thundered into their lives had been inexcusable, but it seemed that Blair's willingness to sacrifice everything to protect his partner from exposure had shaken the cop's brain out of its kneejerk fear responses and into something more protective, more caring. The revelation that Jim had, in some twisted way, been trying to keep him safe had shocked Blair. He still wasn't sure what Jim had been trying to "protect" him from—it sure hadn't been the rogue Sentinel. There had been serious rough patches since Sierra Verde, but they'd been working through them, and their friendship had become deeper after the chaos of the recent press conference.

In some ways their relationship had become slightly more physical than before. Jim seemed to be standing much closer to Blair in the past few weeks; a slight invasion of Blair's personal space that he found more comforting than intimidating. And then there were the physical signs of affection; the hair ruffles, an arm around his shoulders or his waist, a hug now and then, even a kiss on the forehead once or twice. It was almost like it had been B.A. —Before Alex. Almost, because the touching had become a little more frequent, a little more intimate.

Was that a Sentinel thing, the renewed urge to touch; those kisses? It was hard to say. Jim had always been kind of a touchy-feely guy around him, and there wasn't any ethnographic data about Sentinels who'd gotten their Guides killed and then revived them—or Sentinels who forgave their Guides after a possible betrayal.

Better not go there, Blair reminded himself. Move forward…always forward.

Freshman paper he'd written on the significance of flutes in Andean ritual; he had a copy of the journal it had been published in. Toss. It went into the recycle box on his right.

The phone's shrill ring jarred him out of his thoughtful sorting trance.

"Sandburg."

"Hey, Chief, you need to get presentable. We're heading for the airport to pick up a Lieutenant Altamira."

Blair smiled at the sound of Jim's voice. "Cool. I'm bored out of my skull. I am so ready to get out of here for a while before the training seminar starts. Who's Lt. Altamira, and why did I get picked to go along?"

"She's a lecturer for the cultural awareness unit at the seminar."

"Oh. And I'm going to pick her up because I'm the token anthropologist?"

"That's about the size of it, Junior.” Blair could hear the grin in Jim's voice. "Apparently, Simon thinks I'd bore her to death."

Blair laughed. "So, now I'm the entertainment. Great."

"That's you: departmental circus clown."

"Fuck you, Ellison.” He stuck his tongue out at the phone.

"So get ready. I'll be leaving the station in about ten minutes."

Blair looked down at himself. Sweats and bare feet weren't exactly appropriate for meeting a lecturer at the airport. "No problem, man. I'll be ready when you get here."

"Don't forget the red nose."

"Jim!"

"See you soon."

* * *

He'd been ready for about five minutes when Jim arrived. "C'mon, Chief, let's get this dog and pony show on the road.” Jim's grin didn't hide the slight irritation in his voice.

Being stuck on guest pickup duty always seemed to annoy the cop, Blair observed. For a guy who seemed to be involved with a lot of people, Jim could be awfully standoffish when it came to meeting anybody new. Fear-based responses, man. It had to be a Sentinel thing.

Blair shrugged into his lightweight jacket. "So—what's the scoop? You get any word on what Altamira's like?"

"Jeez, Sandburg—planning the moves you're going to make on her already?" Jim sounded vaguely annoyed. "No, I don't have a personality report. Not even a photo. But let me make it clear—you start humping her leg, and I'll be forced to put a leash on you."

Leg humping? He hadn't had so much as a date in what felt like forever. "Nah. You'd like that too much.” He slapped Jim's shoulder as they got into the truck. Jim gave him a peculiar look, but Blair ignored it. They rode all the way to the airport in silence.

* * *

Lieutenant Angelica Altamira was a quiet woman, who introduced herself softly and with few words. A little taller than Blair, she had short, straight black hair. Her face was plain, with no makeup, and she wore sensible flat shoes, even though she wasn't in uniform. She projected a no-nonsense attitude, with a slender, angular body and a firm handshake.

Jim turned his full-wattage Ellison grin on her as they introduced themselves, going as far as kissing her hand. He picked up her bag and handed her briefcase to Blair.

"Detective Ellison," she said, looking nonplussed but vaguely pleased. "Is this how you greet all your seminar guests?"

"Only the charming ones," Jim said, voice smooth as butter. His eyes glittered, face lit from within. His focus on her was pure as laser light.

Blair looked at his partner, astonished. Jim had dated a lot of women in the time he'd known him, but Altamira wasn't exactly the usual Ellison type. He tended to like them tall and leggy, imposing. Annoyance crept through his bones. He hadn't signed up for Sherpa porter duty. At least Jim hadn't handed him her bag, too.

As they headed back for the truck, Jim moved restlessly around Altamira. He looked like a panther stalking its next meal. Altamira seemed flattered by the handsome detective's attentions. They traded flirty inanities as Blair alternately stewed and cursed himself for his reaction. He was jealous, damn it, and there was no reason why he should feel this way. It wasn't like Blair had any claim on his partner. He had no right to be upset if Jim found the woman interesting. Maybe it was just a bad case of the Guide getting all territorial.

He'd have to go back and check Burton and some of the other sources. He doubted they'd be any help, since he was pretty sure he'd have remembered if there was something about Guides acting overly territorial about their Sentinels. But maybe the academic knowledge hunt would keep his mind off his rising irritation. He glowered at the pair ahead of him, who behaved as though their short, hairy tag-along was invisible.

"So, would you like to join me for dinner, Angelica?" Jim asked, his hand rubbing lightly along her collarbone.

Blair ground his teeth. Dinner with Jim's latest infatuation was something he always tried to dodge whenever the subject came up. But Jim's cutting him out of the invitation in such a matter-of-fact way hurt even more than sitting across the table and watching Jim play smoochie-face with femme fatales.

"I'd love to, thank you," Altamira said, smiling. She didn't spare a glance for Blair, either. In fact, she'd barely said a single word to him.

So much for an exchange of anthropological data. Blair glared at them.

Jim opened the truck door. "Is there anything in particular you'd like? Cascade has a lot of great restaurants. We've got Mexican, Thai, Chilean—a lot of different ethnic restaurants—and then there's fancy international-inspired regional cooking; Northwest Fusion. If you like salmon, there's a great salmon house place on the waterfront."

Blair suddenly realized that Jim was helping Altamira into his usual seat, meaning that he was either going to have to crawl into the smallish back seat from Jim's side, or walk back to the loft. He darted around to the other side and slid into the cramped area. There was no way that Jim the Jerk was going to abandon him at the airport like lost luggage.

Altamira gave Jim a fifty watt smile, or perhaps it was just dim in Blair's eyes. "Oh, I'm not sure. Can I have some time to think about it today at the conference before I decide?"

"Of course.” Jim pushed her suitcase behind the seat, accidentally whacking Blair's knees with it. "You just let me know by the end of the day.” He smiled, helping her with the seat belt. "I'll take care of the rest."

"You're so kind," Altamira said. "I really do appreciate your efforts to make me feel welcome in Cascade, Jim.” 'Detective Ellison' had gone by the wayside very early in their conversation.

It was time to quit being Invisible AnthroGuy. "What types of cultural influences and differences will you be addressing at the—"

"That's lovely perfume you're wearing," Jim said, cutting him off as though Blair hadn't even spoken. "What is it?"

"Thank you. It's a new scent," she said. "It's called Moonridge. It's supposed to evoke the scent of a mountain forest in moonlight."

Jim grinned almost blissfully. "It really is wonderful on you."

Blair leaned back, folded his arms, and plotted homicide. It was going to be a hellish ride to the conference. He wondered if he should crash their dinner. After all, he had to eat, too, and it was Jim's night to cook. Dinner out with the guest speaker hadn't been on the agenda and he didn't have his own car with him. It looked like a choice between starving and eating an overpriced salad at the hotel's restaurant.

Okay, so he was having a severe case of sour grapes. It wouldn't be right to crash them. He sat in the center of the tiny bench back seat, arms crossed over his chest in a very stand-offish gesture, trying hard not to let his frown permanently collapse his face. He got not so much as a 'what the hell is wrong with you, Sandburg?' as Jim and Lieutenant Usurper carried on like politely lust-crazed high school students. Disgusting. Just disgusting.

His jealousy was probably pretty disgusting, too, he had to admit. There was absolutely no reason for the sudden change in his reaction to Jim and the Date of the Moment. He needed to calm himself and get detached.

Yeah, right. Like he could ever 'detach' from Jim. And maybe that was another Guide thing that nobody had mentioned. Like the jealousy and the territorial feelings. What was next?

Blair stayed in the truck when Jim got out to open Altamira's door at the conference hotel. Sullen silence really didn't become him, but they had both been ignoring him, so he didn't have much choice in the matter. They didn't suck face before she got the bellhop to carry her suitcase and briefcase to the lobby, but those long, lingering looks had enough sap in them to drown a diabetic.

Jim gazed after her, watching as she vanished into the hotel, then turned back to the truck with his head still obviously in the clouds.

Oh, man, he's so gone, Blair thought. He hasn't had it this bad more than a few times since I've known him. Unfortunately, they had all been pretty nasty pieces of work. Maybe his friend had a subconscious thing for Bad Girls. He climbed over the seat and parked himself in his accustomed place.

Jim slid behind the steering wheel without a word and headed for the parking garage.

"So, Jim, I guess you're not cooking dinner tonight."

"Mm."

"Jim? Earth to Jim."

Jim blinked. "What, Sandburg?"

"Looks like you get to cook dinner tomorrow instead."

"Dinner," Jim sighed and smiled.

Oh, God, that smile. Blair wanted to rip it off his face. Slowly. With forceps.

"What's with you, man? You're not usually like this."

"Like what? Last time I looked, I liked women."

Ouch. Blair cringed, heart hammering. "Of course you do, big guy. You just don't usually get quite that...absorbed, you know?" "

You're talking out your ass again, Chief."

"And you say I'm the one who humps table legs?"

Jim pulled the truck into the parking garage, and they went into the conference. Both of them attended Altamira's cultural training seminar, where Jim gazed longingly after the lieutenant's...assets and Blair drew little poisoned darts all over the pages of his conference book, complete with authentic markings arranged by tribe. After that, they went their separate ways for the day.

* * *

Blair took in a second morning session on Elements of Profiling. His lecture notes for that session were filled with ragged drawings of stick figures and atlatls. He wondered if he should advance to crossbows for the afternoon sessions. Howitzers, maybe.

He rose with a sigh and went toward the bar. Maybe a nice salad and a beer would fix his bad mood. But Jim never materialized for lunch, and Blair found himself drawing little jaguars being whacked with sticks in the margin of the program book. Ashamed of his attitude, he "lost " the book in the nearest trashcan and went humbly off to registration to ask for a new one.

* * *

Blair's chosen afternoon sessions were on forensic evidence and dealing with crime victims. That one was a breeze for him, as he'd been a "crime victim" often enough since he'd started with Major Crimes. Calming and working with traumatized crime victims wasn't all that different from dealing with a pissed off Sentinel, either, when you got right down to it.

But what if the person trying to deal with the trauma was feeling more than a bit traumatized himself?

"Oh, get a _grip_ , " he muttered to himself as he left the session room. This Obsessive Guide Thing was going beyond the bounds of normal behavior and it was time he did something more than fume about it. He stalked toward the hotel entrance, intending to call for a cab. He'd skip dinner here at the hotel, head home, and spend the evening in meditation getting his feelings sorted out. At least until Jim got home. Even if it was at three in the goddamned morning.

"Hey, Chief."

Blair startled when Jim's large hand settled on his shoulder, then slipped down to the small of his back. The touch triggered something deep inside him, and the roil of emotions suddenly calmed, the tense knots in his stomach uncoiling smoothly. Jim's hand moved slightly along his spine, stroking. So nice. Blair wanted to close his eyes and lean into the touch.

He looked around. Jim was smiling down at him, but there was no sign of the Dreaded Date. "Hey, Jim. I was just going to grab a cab and split. Where are you and Altamira going to be doing dinner?" He didn't really want to know, but figured he should ask. He'd been certain she'd be glued to him by this time.

"Dinner's not happening. The mayor invited her instead, and of course she accepted.” Disappointment showed plainly on Jim's face.

"Oh. Sorry to hear it, man.” Not that Blair meant it, but it was the politic thing to say.

Jim shrugged. "I'll live. Maybe tomorrow night."

"So it looks like you're cooking dinner tonight after all.” Blair grinned. "How about linguine with the Secret Ellison Marinara?"

Jim nodded, distracted. "Sure, Chief. We should pick up a couple cans of tomato paste. I think we're out."

"Tragedy, man. But since you were planning on eating out, why don't the two of us do that salmon place instead?"

Jim paused and then gave him one of those thousand megawatt grins. "Sounds great, Chief!"

Score one for AnthroMan. Blair grinned to himself. If Lieutenant Altamira just happened to change her mind and call the loft, Jim would be conveniently out of touch. "And let's catch a movie after," he suggested. "There's a Jackie Chan playing at the dollar flicks."

"Which one?"

"Who cares, man? It's Jackie Chan!"

"Good point. "

* * *

Sleep—and answers—eluded Blair. He sighed at the digital clock by his bed-side. Two a.m., and he was still restless and no further along in figuring out what had happened today. He reviewed what he'd written earlier, hoping for answers. It was lousy ethnography, he admitted to himself, and so far hadn't given any real insights on his soul.

> Jim was being such a putz today. I swear, he was all over that woman like she was sex on a stick. I haven't seen him like that more than a few times. Seems like they've all been disasters. There was Alex, of whom the less said, the better, but there's no way Altamira is a Sentinel. I just don't get it. Maybe it's something like Laura McCarthy, or Jane Cunningham, or whatever her name really was — the one with the weird pheromone perfume. All disasters, man. Every single one. Jim's got a worse track record with women than I do. If he'd just...
> 
>  
> 
> Blair scratched out that last partial line.
>
>> Sure, sure, I know I'm having some issues here. The Guide's being territorial. Trouble is, I can't find anything that says Guides are territorial. But what if we are? And what if 'AA' is also a Guide? That makes a twisted sort of sense. Senti-nels could have their choice of multiple Guides and settle with the one that they're sexually compatible with. That would sort of explain why I'm acting like he's my wife or…
> 
> No. That wasn't reasonable. He scratched out the last paragraph, blacking over the words with solid strokes. Let's so not go there, Blair, he told himself. He tried again.
> 
>  
>
>> Jim isn't focused on me beyond his need for sense control. This lends support to the idea that the Sentinel-Guide thing may be some sort of pheromonal bonding. Maybe I'm just his temporary Guide and she's destined to be his lifelong Guide.
>> 
>> Oh, man, this could be a mess —
> 
> He paused.
> 
> — because I get seriously disturbed when I don't have him around; when I can't feel his touch or hear his voice. It's almost turned into a craving. When he touched me today, for a moment I wanted to strip off my clothes and let him run those big, warm hands over my body, to give in completely to his touch...to feel his arms around me. What will happen if his true Guide comes and takes my place and I can never again feel his touch on my body or his hand on my face?

He blinked down at the blatant confession; at the image it evoked of himself, naked, in Jim's arms and Jim naked against him. Arms twined, hands stroking, soothing, comforting. He stared at what he'd written, then closed his eyes, one hand flattened on the page to cover it. The writing burned his palm, scorched his heart. Oh, yeah. The answer was simple. So simple. The problem wasn't pheromones.

His problem was that he was in love.

Blair, ever the overly-optimistic, Happy Hetero guy, was madly, head-over-heels in love with Happy Hetero Jim. Not some infatuation, but a full-blown, want-you-forever kind of love and it just wasn't going to work out. A guy didn't suddenly decide to become bi after a lifetime of straightness, and Jim was the total epitome of Straight Guy.

Furthermore, he didn't _want_ to be in love with his best friend, no matter how hot the man was. It could mess up everything. Once Jim found out, he might cut Blair out of his life and find a new Guide. Or Jim might just cut his losses and defenestrate Anthro-Man by way of the balcony.

Angry and frustrated, Blair ripped the pages out of his journal and tore them into tiny scraps. He didn't dare risk burning them; he stepped out onto the balcony and scat-tered them like confetti to the night wind and the street below. But it didn't get rid of the urge for the forbidden, of this painful, unrequited desire he'd finally admitted. Images rose in his mind, in spite of his efforts to bat them away; images of himself curling up in bed with Jim, images of Jim kissing down his forehead and then claiming his mouth. Images of hands, so strong and capable, stroking Blair's body, enfolding his cock.

Damn it! He was hard with need. At least Altamira would be leaving tomorrow. His idiot jealousy would probably calm down then, without her around for Jim to drool over like some pubescent football player, and then he could get his emotions under control and see if he could find anything more on Guide-Sentinel partnerships. Disgusted with himself, he walked to the refrigerator, poured a cold glass of water, stalked into the bathroom and, while standing in the shower, poured it over his groin. His startled hiss apparently didn't wake the Sentinel. Dripping and disgusted, the Guide went back to bed where his traitorous dreams tormented him with images of sex and Jim for the rest of the short night.

* * *

"So…how did it go? You guys going to get together again soon?" Blair kept his tone light as he asked the question he least wanted answered. Jim stared at him with his head cocked, looking puzzled. "You and Lt. Altamira," Blair explained. "You know; you dropped her off at the airport? I was wondering if you were going to be flying out to see her any time soon. "

"Her? No.” Jim dropped the keys in the basket, disinterested in the conversation. He prowled over to the refrigerator and stuck his head in. "We're about out of beer," he announced, picking up the last one.

Blair stared at his roommate's shapely ass and considered kicking said deliciously interesting anatomy. "So what happened?" he promoted.

"Sandburg, if this is some sort of weird information quest for your journals, you can just forget it. I drove Lt. Altamira to the airport. We said goodbye. I left. I don't have to date everyone I pick up from the airport, " Jim growled, frowning at him over the door of the refrigerator.

Oops. "Hey, they're running the Indiana Jones trilogy on cable tonight.” Blair changed the subject quickly. "What say I fix the beef tips while you go do a beer run? It should be ready by the time you get back."

Jim set the beer bottle back in the refrigerator and ruffled Blair's hair on the way to the door. "Deal," he said, as he grabbed his car keys. He turned his thousand-megawatt smile on Blair and suddenly everything seemed to click back to 'normal'—or as close to normal as Blair could expect.

* * *

Dinner was great. Indy was great. Jim was...too far away on the couch. Oh, God, Blair hated that. He spent way too much of the night wishing he could snuggle up against Jim, tucked under the big guy's arm, those...fingers...playing with his hair.

No, he couldn't think about that. This was way too weird. He watched Jim out of the corner of his eye, just taking in his friend's face, the curve of his biceps, the— _oh, God_ —planes of his chest.

Jim had turned and given him an odd, puzzled look at one point. Blair's pulse raced, and he'd turned quickly away, pretending to be interested in his popcorn.

He couldn't live like this. He had to talk to somebody. But who? Nobody at the station, that was for sure. The last thing he needed was yet more rumors floating around. He'd overheard enough insinuations about him being Jim's toy to know life could easily become hell if the wrong person heard a conversation.

He knew quite a few gay guys at Rainier, on staff, among the faculty, and the other post-grad students. Yeah, another post-grad. That would probably be the best. Least risky. Quietest. He could do this. Tomorrow was Monday, and his schedule was fairly light. It would be easy to grab someone to talk to for a while.

* * *

"Hey! Hey, Carl!"

"Hey, Blair. 'Sup?" The tall, lanky, dark-haired student turned and grinned at him. "Headin' for lunch?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah. Got some questions for you, if you wanna join me.” He waved toward the street. There was an organic vegetarian Indian place a few blocks down.

"Sure, dude. What kind of questions? You got a sticky math problem?" Carl was working toward a Ph.D. in physics, and did a lot of math tutoring. Blair had gone to him last year when he was dealing with some messy statistics problems.

"Nah. It's about one of my students. He's going through some rough changes in his life right now. Thought maybe you could help me figure out what to tell him."

Carl raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why me?"

Blair shook his head and shrugged. It was now or never. "The guy says he thinks he might be bi. One of those ‘always thought he was straight’ types. Apparently, he fell for another guy in one of his classes.” Blair sighed. "I have no idea what to tell him, you know? I've got no idea what that must be like."

"Sure," Carl said, nodding. "I think I can help you out. But the guys who think they're bi, you know, usually it's just another step on the way to being gay. I mean, some of those people who think they're bi, they just can't seem to come out all the way."

Ergh. He'd forgotten that Carl was one of the leading queer activists on campus, and how prevalent prejudice against bisexuals tended to be. "Come on, Carl, you don't really believe that stuff about 'no such thing as bisexuals'?"

"In my experience, when a guy finally gets to know what it's like, he'll either stop playing with guys because he's been straight all along, or he's not gonna want to go back.” Carl was practically purring by the time he ended his sentence.

Blair opened the door for him as they entered the restaurant. "Well, he says he's definitely still getting reactions to the hot babes, but the trouble is he's really interested in this classmate. He's not sure what to do."

Carl grinned wickedly. "Well, there's all sorts of information on positions…."

"Carl...” Blair growled. "This isn't any help. I mean if you've never dated a guy, how do you start? He thinks his lust object is straight."

"Oh, honey, that poor kid. That is just the worst. No wonder he wants somebody to tell him how it works.” They sat together at a table and ordered chai and appetizers.

"So tell me more about this guy," Carl said, peering over the menu at him. "Do you think it's gotten beyond the lust stage yet?"

"I think so, but he's pretty confused about it."

Carl gave Blair a sympathetic look. "You want to just send him to me? I could probably give him some pointers."

Blair shrugged. "Yeah, but that wouldn't help me the next time this happens, would it?"

"I guess not."

Carl rubbed his chin thoughtfully as the waiter brought their drinks and their appetizers. "Maybe he should go to the Gay-Straight Alliance meetings at first. See what us queerfolk are like before he tries anything. I have to tell you, a lot of gay guys just love doing the straight guys—and guys who claim they're straight."

"I'm not sure he's ready to be quite that out in public yet. It's a big step.” Blair reached for one of the pappadams and nibbled delicately.

"Okay, a less splashy arrival, then. Tell your student that if he's having fantasies about men, it's okay. It's normal, just like straight guys having fantasies about women.” Carl waved his glass of chai tea energetically.

"Right. Fantasies are normal. And?" Gods knew he was having them these days. Too many of them.

"The guy needs to spend some time thinking about how he feels about this stuff, you know? I mean, even straight guys sometimes have fantasies about other guys, but they never tell anybody about it. I mean, that's how they end up getting blow jobs from guys like me." Blair choked on his chai and Carl grinned broadly.

"That's one way of finding out. Bringing it up with the probably straight fantasy man isn't a good idea at first," Carl continued. "That's the advantage of being with someone you know is gay for your first experience."

"Yeah, but what if he doesn't like it?"

"See, that's the benefit. No awkwardness at being halfway through a seduction and discovering that the thought of doing the nasty with your partner makes you want to retch. "Sometimes you don't want to deal with words. If they're close friends, they might touch some already. He could sort of slowly work up to more touches, see how that works."

Blair nodded. Jim touched him. Jim touched him a lot. And Jim had been touching him a lot more than usual lately, even for a touchy-feely Sentinel.

Carl tapped a finger on the table. "But you know, the most effective way for a guy to tell if he's really interested in guys is to rent some gay porn. If it turns him on, he definitely swings that way."

Blair swallowed softly. "Well, what happens then? If the porn does it for him, I mean?"

"If the guy he's being touchy-feely with is straight," Carl said, "he usually gets antsy, starts pushing the other guy away a little at some point. That might be the end of it right there. If he's interested, though, he'll let it happen. Might even encourage it; let those touches get a little closer, a little more."

And hadn't Blair been doing just that? Craving Jim's touch? Fearing the loss of it?

"Yeah, but I can't see these two guys, like, just dropping into bed together.” He tried to picture Jim letting Blair touch him, then turn and start taking Blair's clothes off, but hot as the fantasy was, it just wasn't computing. Jim wouldn't...wasn't...

"Happens more often than you think, but with the straight guys, you know, there's always the hazard of getting the crap beat out of you later. It's happened to me more than once. It really is a risk, and the kid you're talking to needs to know that."

Blair nodded grimly. "I read about things like that in gender studies."

Carl touched his hand briefly. "Most of the time that doesn't happen. Straight dude may never talk to him again, but unless the guy's totally homophobic, that probably won't happen, either. Especially if they've been friends a while, you know? That could just turn into one of those 'we shall never speak of this again' incidents instead."

None of that sounded worth the risks, but if— Oh, man, if. "Is dating guys anything like dating women?"

"Not much. How many guys do you know go for the hearts and flowers thing, Blair?"

"Not many."

"If the lust object is a macho type, you woo them with games, or camping, or maybe trips to the gym together or something. Is the almost-gay kid into any of that?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, he seems the type. And this other student is definitely the macho type.” Jags games? Oh, yeah, he could handle that. Camping? He was so ready. And watching Jim work out? _Oh_ , yeah. Drool time, here.

"Hey, a quiet moment in the gym can lead to heavenly games of drop the soap. Of course, you don't want to approach the lust object, especially a macho lust object, too aggressively. A lot of them are pretty squeamish about the anal stuff. Blowjobs first, definitely. Almost any guy will drop trou for a blowjob. A mouth's a mouth, you know? Just tell the kid not to try to poke his dick into his friend before he knows he's not gonna get the shit beat out of him just for trying."

"Right, right.” This was half terror, half dream come true.

"If your student thinks he can get behind the idea of blow jobs, he should look around in Sister's Place—that's a queer book shop over on the Hill—and pick up some stuff on gay sex. And if he decides that he's gay, he needs to start reading up on coming out." "

I don't think he's really ready to go there," Blair said quickly. His looks already made him a very controversial figure at the police department and any hint that he was something other than straight-arrow heterosexual would cause a quick reaction. His ride-along pass with Jim would be yanked promptly and he would no longer be welcomed in the police station. In a closed society like the CPD, the idea that someone had a gay or bisexual housemate would be the kiss of death for someone's career. No, this was a secret that he needed to keep to himself.

"The coming out thing is a really hard thing to do, but you know, in college it really isn't that bad. Friends first, usually, then family, if the family isn't likely to disown you or something.” Carl sat back, watching as the waiter set the plates of food on the table. "But sometimes they do. And work… If he works, work can really be touchy."

"I think the place he works part-time is full of conservative types.” That was the understatement of the year.

"Not a good place to open up, then. But reassure the poor guy. Your kid's likely to lose some friends when he starts to come out, but he'll gain others."

"I'll tell him."

"There are also services for youth who are questioning. Social hangouts, activities clubs. If he's old enough, he can get into the clubs. Not all of them are bars, but a lot are. There are lots of options. I mean, there are even bi men's groups, but I think that's a waste of time."

Blair smiled quietly. Craig's prejudices were showing and he'd better turn the talk to math or this lunch was going to end up with Craig going into full lecture. "Hey, thanks for the info. I'll tell him. "

"Any time, man.” Carl gave him a sly grin. "You sure you don't wanna join my team? You're awfully cute."

Blair waved his hands, brushing the invitation away. "Uh, no thanks, Carl. You've got the wrong kind of equipment, man."

Carl smiled gently. "You see? Sometimes it's that easy. I just did a friendly come on to you, and got turned down. No harm to our relationship, no bad consequences."

Blair laughed and whacked Carl's shoulder playfully. "Point taken."

"Can't blame a guy for hoping that one day you'll see the light, cutie."

Blair laughed and changed the topic to data analysis, still feeling uneasy. So it might be possible to announce to Jim in a teasing way that he had the hots for the big guy. But this didn't answer his original questions—was he gay or bisexual or was this some sort of Guide-Sentinel thing—and what in the heck should he do about it, anyway?

* * *

It was late afternoon when Blair eased into Sister's Place, feeling like he had a neon sign on his face that read "Clueless Straight Guy.” It was odd being checked out by men. It had happened before, sure, but never in a place where anyone would assume he wanted to be checked out. It made him nervous.

He took a deep breath and wandered over to the magazine racks.

Holy shit. The guys on some of those covers made Jim look like a maiden aunt. He picked one up and flipped through it, then dropped it back on the shelf as though he'd been burned. Oh, God, oh, God. Heat was flaring through him. He just couldn't do this.

He couldn't buy some gay skin magazine. Way too embarrassing, and besides, Jim might find it around the house. He fled Sister's Place and headed for home.

Oh, yeah, home. That was the answer: Internet porn. Free, easy to find, and gone without a trace.

Maybe that would be sufficient to find out if this was what he genuinely wanted.

* * *

Jim wasn't at the loft, but there was a message on the answering machine saying something about a stakeout and telling Blair he'd have to fend for himself for the evening. Feeling slightly relieved, he sat down in front of his laptop with a cup of tea, de-termined to find free gay porn on the internet. The search engine told him that there were supposedly three million gay porn sites available, so he took a deep breath and clicked on the first one that came up—a directory of some sort. There, buried in the links was something called 'copsex.' He held his breath and clicked.

Most of the images seemed to be clipped from really bad pornographic movies; the men in them looking more like bikers than like any cop he'd ever met. He flicked through them, one at a time. Most were too fake to catch his attention, but there were a few that somehow reminded him of Jim and he found himself growing hard. He set the laptop on his chest and stretched out on the couch, stroking his penis idly. There was that one picture…oh, yeah. He could so see Jim in that one, kneeling in front of him…. He clicked on a thumbnail photo, and continued his explorations. Most anthropological research wasn't half this much fun.

* * *

A rattling sound interrupted Blair's dreams. He was… He blinked sleepily, eyes focusing… he was stretched out on the couch with his hand in his pants and the laptop on his lap and the noise…

"Hey, sleeping beauty. You gonna take up residence on the couch?" Jim was strolling toward him, beer in hand. Blair yanked his hand out of his pants, reached for the laptop and started to sit up…and froze.

OhGod. OhGodohGodohGod. The picture on the screen…the one he had been looking at when he finally shot his load. It was of two men, nude, one tall and buff with close-cropped hair. Behind him stood a smaller man with long, dark hair and a sensual smile. The smaller man's arms were wrapped around the taller man's body, hands folded to cup and conceal his genitals. Blair imagined himself standing behind Jim like that, hands folded over the soft skin of Jim's balls, cupping that firm penis with his fingers, his own cock sliding between the hot skin of…of…

He looked up. Jim was standing in front of him, head cocked. Blair blushed and slapped down the laptop's screen. "I must have been sleepier than I thought. I swear I just closed my eyes for a moment.” He grinned, hoping that Jim would interpret the whole thing as 'horny kid falls asleep looking at porn.'

"Yeah, looked like you had a hard day.” Was it just his imagination, or was there a trace of sarcastic amusement in that comment? Jim was standing over him now, and it took all his mental effort to keep from staring at the man's crotch.

"Right! Well, I'll just say goodnight.” Blair stood and started to turn for his room, when the tug of the laptop cord stopped him. He turned, annoyed at his forgetfulness. Jim pulled the plug from its socket and gravely handed the cord to Blair.

"Goodnight, Darwin. Don't get all wrapped up in your studies," Jim said genially and then suddenly bent forward and planted a kiss on Blair's forehead. Blair stared at him in openmouthed confusion as Jim ambled for the loft stairs, grinning.

* * *

Tuesday had gone from bad to catastrophic by the time 5 p.m. rolled around. Blair stormed into the loft, dropping his backpack beside the door and throwing the keys into the basket, disgusted. Jim followed him in and closed the door before dumping the groceries on the kitchen table.

"Look, nothing happened," Jim said reasonably.

"Nothing happened? _Nothing happened_?" Blair was off into rant mode now. He knew that he was being unreasonable, but the stress of the past few weeks seemed to have knocked his self-control offline. "You go from being Mr. Sensible to Mr. Oblivious in the middle of a fucking shootout and nearly get me killed and then you have the nerve to tell me that 'nothing happened'?!"

"I got distracted. I apologized."

"You got turned on like a horny teenager by a seventy-year-old woman, Jim! "

"Well, she was a very attractive—"

"She was _seventy_ -fucking-years-old, man!"

"I just…."

Blair was bellowing, his arms waving frantically in the air. He suspected he might just be frothing at the mouth, but was far too carried away to care. "YOU JUST STOOD OVER HER DROOLING LIKE A ZOMBIE WHILE THAT PUNK WAS FIRING AT EVERYTHING IN THE BOTIQUE! IF HER DAUGHTER HADN'T WHACKED HIM OVER THE HEAD WITH A BOOT, WE'D STILL BE THERE AND HE'D STILL BE PUTTING HOLES IN THE DECORATIONS!"

"Blair, I think you're overreacting—"

"You weren't the one who nearly got drilled by that MORON while your so-called PARTNER is putting the moves on a SEPTUGENARIAN!"

He waved his hands angrily one last time and spun on his heel.

"I said I was sorry."

" _Ha_!" It wasn't the snappiest retort in the universe, but it was the only one Blair could think of. He couldn't slam the doors to his room, but he made a good try at it. Stomping over to his bed, he pulled out his laptop and turned it on—

—and freaked.

There, displayed as wallpaper was that picture from yesterday of the two naked men; the smaller man's hands cradling the taller man's crotch in elegantly muscled hands. He had erased it; nuked it off his drive and it was back like a bad replay of The Thing That Wouldn't Die. And he must have made a noise because Jim was pounding on the door, asking if he was okay. And all he could do was slap the laptop shut and croak, "I'm fine," in a voice that he barely recognized as his own.

He opened the laptop back up. The picture was still there.

"I wish—I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away—right now," he muttered.

* * *

That, as it turned out, was the high point of the week. On Wednesday, Franken-Jim was back. He started the day in style, teasing and touching Blair until Blair thought he'd have to run into the bathroom and jerk off. Halfway through the day, Jim went into what Blair labeled the Sentinel Mating Dance over the very married Hollie at the hotdog stand, and Blair invented an excuse to head off to Rainier University.

Safe at last to wallow in self-pity and disgust in his little office empire, Blair pulled his laptop from his backpack and turned it on while he scrounged around in his desk drawers for a bag of tea. What he really needed was something soothing with chamomile and catnip, but he'd used up the last of those the day before yesterday. He'd have to settle for something else herbal—that is, if he still had any left in his private stash. He popped the lid of the little Tupperware container and found it empty. The file cabinet was equally bare. Finally, in the lowest drawer of his desk, on top the file folder of articles for his Anthro 5482 course, he discovered an elderly package of peppermint tea and a bag of green tea that ripped when he tried to pry it from the back of a sticky-note pad. Trailing desiccated tea fragments, he sat up with a sigh—

—and froze.

That picture was back, in all its casually nude glory, as the background for his computer. Blair scooped the machine up and bolted for the Anthro computer lab. It had to be spyware. Patricia, the senior tech, would know what to do. He only hoped she wouldn't give him too much grief over it. He still had to go home and deal with Franken-Jim—after he stopped by the tea shop and got some double-strength herbal relaxant tea for his nerves.

* * *

 

The third floor hallway looked dark and unwelcoming in the gloom of the late winter afternoon. Blair steeled himself as he put the key into the lock, wishing he'd actually had a cup of Serenity tea before he started home. Jim was home already, or at least his truck was there in its usual parking space.

"Hey, Jim," he called, not really looking around as he dropped the keys into the basket beside the door. "I'll get dinner started soon," he added as he shucked his backpack on the floor, and hung his jacket up.

No answer. "Jim?" He turned.

Jim was lying motionless on the couch with a white sock over his eyes.

Blair blinked, and focused on the entire scene.

Jim was lying motionless on the couch, with a white sock over his eyes, with his pants unzipped and his hand… Oh, gods… His hand was wrapped around his cock, which was hard and needy-looking, and he was just barely breathing and Blair knew that the Sentinel had zoned on something in the middle of a hot fantasy. He dithered for a moment, and treated himself to a nice, long stare. His own body reacted with a sudden rush of heat. This particular memory was going to warm a lot of his nights, after he got Jim awake and out of this compromising position. Well, except maybe the sock thing. That was serious weirdness, man.

He edged around the coffee table to the couch, his eyes fixed on Jim's erection. "Ground Control to Major Tom. You awake, big guy?" It was a good idea to check to see if your subject was _compos mentis_ before you went playing in their pants.

No response. "Jim?" The Sentinel remained motionless. Blair sighed, leaned forward, and removed the sock, catching a whiff of some odd odor. No reaction from Jim. He delicately grabbed one wrist with his hand and tugged.

Nothing happened.

He pulled harder, but the Sentinel's muscles seemed locked in some sort of unusual rigor. The standard zone out left Jim's body quasi-limp and able to be repositioned. But whatever caused this one locked the muscles in a rigor-like state. Blair tugged at the unmoving wrist a third time, before giving up his effort and sitting back with a sigh.

"Okay. Plan B.” Plan B had to work because he wasn't sure what he'd do for a Plan C. He raked his hair away from his face and then bent forward and began trying to pry Jim's hand free, trying to not feel how hot the column of flesh was, not to smell the warm scent of Jim's body, not to be aware of how velvety soft the crown of Jim's cock was, not to memorize the shape of the thick cock head, to not stare too long and too hard at the glistening trail of pre-come beading at the opening.

Trying to not admit how hard and needy he was just from staring at another man.

One finger loosened, then the next. He bent forward, intent on his task, so close to Jim's cock that he could have touched it with his tongue. Then the last two fingers were free and mercifully, Jim's arm was easier to move. Blair slid it aside, staring at the firm length, finally revealed. It twitched lightly and he felt his own harden to the aching point. He leaned forward slightly, wanting to touch his tongue tip to the dark slit, wanting to take it into his mouth, sucking the long shaft and teasing it with his tongue, wrapping his hands around it, making love to this part of the man; to the whole man.

"And that," he sighed softly, "answers that."

Then he tucked Jim's cock back into his pants and zipped carefully and slipped off to the bathroom to relieve his own tensions before he began the long process of bringing his Sentinel out of the zone.

* * *

"What do you mean, there's nothing for dinner?" An un-zoned Sentinel was a grumpy Sentinel.

Blair slumped on the couch and held his head in his hands. "Look, I know it's my turn, but I got tied up at work. Why don't we grab some stuff at the grocery store for tomorrow and get a Wonderburger on the way home and I promise I'll cook for the rest of the week.”

Now his head was pounding and he was ready to promise Jim a week's worth of Wonderburgers to shut him up and calm him down. To his amazement, The Grump simply nodded and reached for his wallet and truck keys. "Let's go."

That was all the invitation Blair needed. He grabbed his wallet from his backpack and darted out the door.

* * *

Shopping with a Sentinel had its advantages because you could use his nose to find the freshest fruits and vegetables. However, it also had its downsides and one of them was that said Sentinel got annoyed at certain scents. Blair had decided to try a new aftershave and ended up throwing it away after one use when Jim announced suddenly that either the scent had to go or Blair had to go.

But picking a new aftershave that met Sentinel standards could be a time-consuming process. Blair uncapped one bottle and watched as Jim flinched away. "No, huh?"

"Not unless you plan on wearing it after you move to Montana, Chief."

He sighed and picked up another bottle, reading the ingredients. "Jim, what do you think of this scent?" He uncapped the bottle, sniffed and held it out.

There was no response. Alarmed, he turned to face his partner. Jim was standing there, nostrils flared, chest out, pupils dark, a slight smile on his face, staring down the aisle at someone else. Blair groaned and rolled his eyes. It was the "pre-mating dance" expression; the one that Jim wore just before he draped himself all over the object of this minute's affections.

Blair turned and discovered that this object of Jim's attentions was large, tattooed, muscular, male and mustachioed. Said attraction was also wearing biker gear and colors that proclaimed him a member of the Overly Muscled Conservative-Voting Motorcycle Club. Jim took a step forward, entranced.

"Jim?"

No response. The big man was fixated on the bigger man, and it didn't take an Einstein to figure out what would happen when a drooling, hormonal Jim landed on top of a 250-pound biker.

The biker's muscled arms rippled as he spritzed perfume into the air and sniffed, looking down at his biker mama. Jim sniffed, too, and took a long step forward, and Blair could swear he was about to start drooling. Visions of Jim being pounded into cop-burger floated through his head.

"Jim?"

The guy spritzed perfume again, and Jim's sexual response seemed to go into overdrive. Blair desperately twisted open the bottle of aftershave he was holding, faked a trip, and managed to spill a good half of the contents all over Jim. J

im snarled at him, but the dangerous fog he'd been in was shattered.

"Sorry, Jim, sorry!" He looked at the other customers, who were now staring at them. "Sorry, everybody. We'll just, uh...just a minute."

He grabbed Jim's arm and fled. Jim followed along, confused. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" Blair shouted as he got Jim to the truck. "I could understand the women, but—but Biker Dude from Hell? You have _got_ to be kidding!" He was right in Jim's face, one hand still on his arm, the other waving wildly.

Jim brought both hands to his face, looking miserable and angry. "Oh, God, that stuff stinks. What the hell were you thinking, Sandburg?"

"I was thinking you were gonna get your ass handed to you in about three seconds if I didn't do something. It was an emergency, man.”

"God, this shit is migraine-inducing,” Jim groaned.

"Oh, Jim, I'm sorry. C'mon, big guy, dial the scent down, okay?"

Jim nodded and focused.

"That's right. Just dial it down to nothing. You don't need to smell that stuff. It really is pretty nasty, isn't it?"

A wretched moan and a nod was his only reply as Jim closed his eyes and started to concentrate. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and glared down at the object of his olfactory adventure. "I have got to get home and take a shower," he said carefully. Apparently a homicide featuring Sandburg was in the works, but Jim would hold off until after he got into an odor-free zone. "These clothes may need to be tossed if the stench won't come out of them."

Blair cringed. "Look, Jim, I'm really sorry, but I think I know why this stuff is going on. I'll be back in just a minute, okay?"

"No, we're going home right now."

"I just have to go check something. I swear, I'll be right back, okay?" he yelled back over his shoulder as he trotted toward the store.

Jim opened all the windows in the truck and got in, sulking.

Blair darted down the maze of aisles in the grocery store. Scent. It was all scent related, he knew that now. This had to be another one of those weird pheromone things. It was the only thing that could explain everything, especially that alarming and potentially ass-endangering case of Biker Hots. Once he got to the counter, he got the clerk's attention. She grinned at him, despite his precipitous departure a few minutes earlier.

"Can I help you?" He smiled back at her. "I'm looking for this perfume....” Glancing around the counter, he saw a little moss-colored bottle labeled Moonridge. "Oh, hey, I bet this is it."

"Oh, yes," she said. "That's been very popular since it came out last month. One of our best sellers."

He bought their smallest bottle, and ran back to the truck.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, Jim emerged from the shower wearing nothing but a towel. Blair tucked the chicken into the oven to bake and pushed a bottle of beer toward his partner. "Your clothes are down in the basement. I figured it was safer to toss them out than to try to get them clean enough."

"So why in the hell did you decide to throw perfume all over me?"

"I'm sorry, Jim. I really am," he said. "But it was the only thing I could think of to save your life. Now that I know what's causing your reactions, though, I think we can work out some sort of program to minimize the effects on you."

"Do tell."

"It's one of the chemicals in a new brand of perfume. They put synthetic pheromones in them nowadays and I think you're particularly sensitive to one type of them. They...distract you. They...entice you. You really get this obsessed look on your face and you go into this mating dance and are focused on whoever it is that's wearing the perfume, no matter how unsuitable they are."

"Do not.” Jim took a gulp of the beer.

"Oh, yeah? Then how do you explain your sudden biker fetish?"

"I was just looking at him in case he might be planning something.” Jim's excuse sounded weak and defensive.

"Oh, yeah? Well, what about that 70-year-old grandma? She wasn't planning anything. It was that punk with the gun that was doing all the menacing."

Jim opened his mouth and then shut it, glaring. He took another swig of beer.

"I'll prove it," Blair said, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the bottle of perfume and dabbed some of it on the towel and swung it in Jim's direction. The effect was immediate and dramatic; like every single wet dream he'd ever had coming true. The Sentinel focused a laser-like stare on him and started moving forward with catlike grace.

Oh, wow.

Now Jim was standing right in front of him, still staring, heat radiating off his body. Blair managed to collect enough functioning brain cells to put a hand on that hard chest and say weakly, "Uh...Jim. It's hormones, Jim. Calm down. It's just hormones."

Jim's head dipped and he purred into Blair's ear. "You bet it is, Chief. Just hormones.”

He shoved hard on Jim's chest and dangled the towel off to one side. He flapped it encouragingly. "Jim. Hormones.” Jim's teeth grazed his earlobe lightly and he felt his cock leap in response. "Uh...Jim?"

"Yeah?" That breathy purr rumbled in his ear.

"Jim, this is just all the effects of that perfume."

"No, it isn't.” A tongue probed delicately into his ear; warm hands slid around his back.

"Jim. Perfume. We need to get you desensitized. Really, big guy.” He flapped the towel frantically until a large hand reached down, yanked it from his grasp, and tossed it back into the kitchen somewhere.

"Already did that.” Jim's mouth left his ear and started exploring his neck.

Blair shivered. "Jim...."

"That's what the sock was for."

Blair blinked and stiffened. "The sock?" He turned to look at Jim. "The sock...when I found...."

"Right.” Large hands framed his face; a thumb gently rubbed his lip. "The sock. I was desensitizing myself.” And then his mouth was captured in a warm soft kiss, and his own senses spun out of control. The back of his mind yammered something about socks and computers, but his cock wasn't listening and come to think of it, neither was the rest of his body. His hands found their way around Jim's body. Jim's bath towel slid to the floor.

Blair gasped for breath. "So this isn't...?"

"Sandburg...."

"What?"

"You think too much.”

He was pulled into Jim's arms; into another slow, probing kiss. His brain promptly shut down, as other parts of his body suddenly woke up. Blair's hands slid down Jim's sides, moving slowly, savoring the warmth. There was a sudden growl from the Sentinel and a yank on his shirt that split a seam and sent all his buttons flying. Apparently Jim didn't want things to go slowly. Blair's hands slid slowly towards Jim's ass.

Jim moaned into his mouth and bucked against him, rubbing his cock against the fabric of Blair's jeans, sliding along his erection. Blair panted into the hot mouth, hard and needy. He pushed back, hips moving against the Great Wall of Ellison, which seemed about to tumble at any moment. "Bed," he whimpered. His pants were expertly unzipped and his jeans stripped from his hips. And then they were pressed crotch-to-crotch, warmth and wetness, sliding against each other.

"Bed?" Words of one syllable were all he was able to manage.

"Sandburg, you talk too much.”

Hands pulled him forward, somehow undressing his body as he was led onward. He toed off his sneakers and clawed off his socks, trying to not lose contact with Jim's body as he was led forward. He would have followed Jim anywhere by that point.

He was pulled around and then there was something behind his knees. Yes. Bed. His bed. Bed was good. Very good. No need to try adventures like the stairs. He sank backwards, pulling Jim with him, and his brain sizzled and popped as he felt the warm, heavy body cover his own. He grabbed Jim's hair, deepening the kiss, and bucked into that naked body pressed against his. He wanted this badly. And here, at the point of no return, there was no question—only the feeling of rightness and of longing and hunger. He arched his hips upward, riding against the hard flat planes of Jim's stomach, his hands tracing the dips and mounds of Jim's buttocks, his mouth tasting and exploring along Jim's neck. So good. So very right.

Jim thrust down against him, shimmied against him. He felt their bodies thrumming and moaned softly into Jim's mouth. He could feel Jim's hard cock sliding against his own and responded eagerly, arching upward with his groin. Their bodies were slippery with sweat as they moved together, awkwardly at first, then with increasing confidence and desire. He never wanted to stop kissing...to stop kissing Jim.

A hand slid between them, curling around Blair's penis, thumb sliding across the slit on his cocktip, the fingers and palm warm and tight around the shaft. He shuddered and cried out as the climax hit him; felt the liquid warmth of his semen in the hollow between their bodies. He raked his fingernails downward and Jim shuddered. Warmth and wetness flooded along his stomach as Jim shuddered with climax and then slumped heavily against him.

Blair wiggled to one side and shoved against Jim until he rolled the taller man to his side. Sleepy blue eyes peered into his, and a smile traced the Sentinel's lips. "Sandburg, you're thinking again."

"Uh. Bad habit. But I was wondering...."

"Yes, I knew it was a problem," Jim said softly as he toyed with one of Blair's curls. "I knew I was overreacting and I figured out it was the perfume. The day you caught me was the first time I'd tried to do one of those over-exposure therapies that you talk about."

"Yeah, well, you were pretty gone over that one."

"Not really. By the time I realized you were in the room, it was too late to hide things, so I just stayed still."

Blair whacked his chest with a hand. "You jerk! No wonder it was so hard to pry your hand loose!"

Jim leaned in for another kiss. "Oh, yeah. It was hard. I could feel your breath. I thought you were going to go down on me right then.” His hand ghosted along Blair's side and slid down to his cock, which twitched at the feel of Jim's skin. "I knew you wanted to."

Blair stared at him. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"This," he said, and gestured between them with one hand. "How long have you known that I...that you...that..."

"I began to suspect when I found the picture on your computer the first time."

Blair could feel the blush rising. "Uh...well...."

"But your reactions to it the other times it showed up pretty well confirmed it."

"My... You what?"

"I was monitoring you to see how you'd react."

"You....asshole!" He jerked upwards and glared down at Jim, who just grinned.

"Yeah, but I'm your asshole.” He reached for Blair, pulling him down into a kiss, stroking his hands along Blair's body.

"For keeps?"

"For keeps," Jim said, and sealed the promise with a kiss that turned all his nerve endings to fire.

Revenge would just have to wait. For the moment, his cock was paying attention to matters at hand, and there was all the time in the world ahead of him.

~~end~~


End file.
